Dear Potter
by ThestralSong13
Summary: Can Harry and Draco ever forget their past and start anew? Through a series of letters things start to change.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This website refuses to let me cross out words, so wherever you come across either an unfinished word or something else wierd, it's not my grammar. It is where the character changes his/her mind about what they were going to write in the letter. Also, I love reviews and constructive criticism! Let me know what you think! Thank you to my lovely editors, you know who you are.

_Dear__ Potter,_

_I'm sorry. __for wh __Also, thank you. __You've __You know why. I don't have to elaborate._

_-Draco Malfoy_

_July 17, 1998_

Harry gazed down at the scrap of parchment, bewildered. It couldn't be…The sound of the kitchen door opening startled Harry out of his reverie, and he shoved the parchment into his pocket as Ron walked towards him.

"Mum says we need to help with the laundry."

"Yeah, coming…Yeah."

Ron stared at Harry for a moment, then shrugged and went back the way he came.

…

_Malfoy, _

_Thank you. __I can't say… I don't know why__ Merlin, now I understand all of your scratched-out attempts! You're welcome, and… __no pro__ apology accepted._

_-Harry Potter_

_July 17, 1998_

Harry stared at his work for a second, then added a line:

_P.S. – Why now?_

He knew Malfoy would know what he was asking without further explanation. With that, Harry called Pigwidgeon to him and, after a short stuggle in which the owl squealed in excitement and flapped its wings uncontrollably, tied the letter to his leg.

…

Draco was greeted that evening by the sound of something sharp rapping his window. He saw the owl and let it in, a feeling of curiosity welling in him. _Could Potter have written back already? _The tiny owl pecked his hands enthusiastically, but he shook it off. The creature was not disheartened, but didn't peck him again. After reading the reply, he sent the bird back home; Draco would need time to write back; or at least more time than he wanted to allow now. He was tired.

…

_Potter,_

_I knew you could be dim, but you can't think I haven't wanted to thank you before. I just… __didn't kn couldn't __didn't. Call me a coward, but this is easier. __And after the last All that we've The past few years__ An apology was in order._

_-Draco Malfoy_

_July 18, 1998_

_ Dammit, Potter,_ thought Draco, _why do you always have to make things difficult?_

…

_Malfoy,_

_Of course an apology is in order, but why? And also, that goes for both of us. I've done as many foul things to you as you have to me. I'm sorry._

_-Harry_

_July 18, 1998_

"Who're you writing to?"

Ron had woken up earlier than Harry had expected.

"Uhh… no one." Ron gave him a questioning look.

"Luna. I'm writing to Luna." Ron's face relaxed slightly. Harry broke eye contact and went to prod Pigwidgeon awake.

…

Draco's owl returned, closely followed by the tiny, twittering one again. He couldn't explain why, but he was relieved and excited to see it. He also couldn't explain why he had had trouble sleeping and had woken up so obscenely early. He was used to the nightmares, but it wasn't the nightmares that had kept him awake on this particular night. After reading Harry's response, Draco sighed and picked up his quill.

_Potter,_

_I suppose I have to accept your apology too. Drop it, though. Isn't it enough that I've said sorry?_

_-Draco Malfoy_

_July 18, 1998_

Draco sighed again and put down the quill. After a second of staring at his response, he picked it back up. After another moment, he put it down again. Why _did _he feel the need to apologize now? Potter was right, their enmity had been mutual, but why did he, Draco, decide to act on the reconciliation? A voice at the back of his head knew the answer, but he mentally glared at it until it faded.

…

_ Typical,_ thought Harry. _Just when he's starting to act like a decent human being, he catches himself and stops. _Shaking off his dissatisfaction at Draco's response, Harry went back to his conversation.

"Who's it from?"

"Ron, I told you it was Luna." Ron continued to look at Harry.

"You don't believe me?"

"It's just… You're acting kind of funny about these letters… Something in the way you look at them… You kind of tense up."

"It's nothing. Just Luna being Luna." Ron had a look of not wanting to drop the subject, but Harry glanced back down at his hands and fell silent. He wondered fleetingly why he was lying to Ron but shook the worry off as quickly as it had come.

…

In a blur of tears, Draco Malfoy stumbled out of the Manor. How did Lucius still not grasp that the memories remained? Why did they still argue about the war, about the repercussions, even about their emotions? _Scars so deep don't fade fast. We all felt the fear, the pain… how did he forget so quickly? _Draco wondered if he was crazy or damaged; he still woke up in a cold sweat almost nightly. Was his continued fear unreasonable? Was he just soft? _Or is my father just too hard? _Once past the front gate, Draco apparated, not sure of where he was going.

…

"Lucius, he's just a boy!"

"It's about time he became a man. He's plenty old." Narcissa stared at her husband incredulously.

"He's been through more than either of us could have dreamt of at his age!"

"Narcissa, I've had enough. It's been months. We've coddled him long enough."

"It's not coddling, Lucius, it's helping him heal! Screaming at him doesn't help anything!" Tears were welling in her eyes.

"I'm done with this argument." Lucius slammed his empty goblet down and turned on his heel. His heavy and unsteady steps could be heard retreating up the stairs. Narcissa stood by the window, looking unseeingly at the steady rain. _Will he ever heal?_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! Thank you to my wonderful editors, also. And, remember, where there are unfinished words or sentences, that's a character changing his or her mind about what to write in a letter. It was supposed to be crossed out, but no beans.**

"Remus! Tonks!" Harry screamed in desperation, reached for them, but could not move. "Fred!"

But it was too late. One by one they fell, lifeless, to the ground. Harry broke free of the invisible bonds holding him and ran to them. He had the antidote! He could save them! But as he ran, the small bottle fell to the floor and shattered. He jolted awake and sat upright for a moment.

Harry lay back down and remained awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. Although he hadn't seen Remus or Tonks die, it didn't stop the memories of their corpses from creeping up in his dreams. _No_, Harry thought, _I haven't dreamt in a while. Nightmares are all I get now._

…

_Potter,_

_Here's why: I've seen too much death… too much torture… I __can't face don't__ want to be on good terms with those left alive._

_-Draco. __Mal_

_October 29, 1998_

…

_Merlin… Has he come around? This isn't the Malfoy I know… Or knew, more like. This isn't Malfoy. Merlin…_

Harry sank deeper into his pillows. This letter had come even more unexpectedly than the previous ones. And much later. In fact, the delivery owl had woken Harry up. He was relieved that Ron had done nothing more than grunt and roll over in his sleep.

…

Draco closed his eyes and let his head hit the back of the wooden booth. He had been hiding out in the Leaky Cauldron since July. He had stayed the night there after the last fight with Lucius. He went back the next day to pack a bag and then returned straight to his rented room. Draco had thought that leaving home would make him feel better, or at least relieved… But he felt more alone than ever. He couldn't explain why he chose to write to Harry now, but the letter was sent. Now all he could look forward to was a response.

…

The next morning, Draco held a small piece of parchment in his hand.

_Draco,_

_Ok. Do you want to talk? Do you want to meet?_

_-Harry_

_October 30, 1998_

_Of course I want to talk, _thought Draco,_ but with Potter? And why does he care enough to offer?_ He put down Harry's letter and picked up his quill tentatively.

_Potter,_

_I don't can't meet yo__ Yes. Come to the Leaky Cauldron at seven tonight. Alone._

_-Draco_

_October 30, 1998_

…

"Ron, tell your mum I won't be home for dinner!" Harry called over his shoulder as he buttoned up his travelling cloak against the October chill.

"Are you going to tell me that you're meeting Luna?"

"Yes," replied Harry, as Ron walked into the room and leaned on the wall.

"I know you're lying. You've never been a good liar, you know."

"You'd only laugh if I told you." Harry knew this was perfectly true, but Ron gave the response he had anticipated.

"I will not! Just tell me!"

"Fine." Harry sighed deeply, readying himself for the storm of judgment he knew his best friend was capable of dealing. "I'm meeting Draco Malfoy."

Ron gaped at him, and then said, "No, really. Who?"

"I'm serious, Ron."

"But… Why?" Ron looked conflicted, stifling both a grin and a look of disgust.

"I'll… It's kind of a long story. I've got to go." Harry left Ron gazing after him in confusion.

Upon arriving at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry took a deep breath and braced himself for whatever awaited him. He looked around the dining room and didn't see Malfoy. He scanned the room again and made his way to the bar.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," said Tom, a kind smile lighting his lips. After all these years, he was still the barman and still remembered the day an eleven-year-old Harry had walked through the door.

"Evening, Tom," said Harry, looking over his shoulder to make sure that he hadn't just missed Malfoy the first few times he searched.

"Would you like anything to drink?"

"No… No thanks," said Harry distractedly. "Have you seen Draco Malfoy today?"

"He left not an hour ago, Mr. Potter. He may be in his room."

"Thanks. On second thought, I'll have a Firewhiskey."

…

_I'm sorry. __I wa__ I'm just sorry._

_-Draco_

_October 31, 1998_

…

_Malfoy, you're a git. I hope you had your laughs. Here I was, starting to get worried… And for what?_

_-Harry Potter_

_October 31, 1998_

Still fuming, Harry slammed down his quill. However, he regretted this a moment later when he found himself with an upended inkwell in his lap.

"Brilliant. Bloody brilliant."


	3. Chapter 3

Upon reading Harry's response, Draco's guilt tripled. _How can he think it was a joke? We're not in school anymore. We're not kids._

"But he was worried," piped up the voice in Draco's head.

"And now he despises me again. So shut up." Draco said this out loud in spite of himself; he grasped at his head as though he could push the voice out.

"You'd made a breakthrough. You know he's the only one you can talk to," the voice persisted, sounding all the more smug and demeaning with every syllable.

Draco knew this was true; he let out a long breath that made him feel like a balloon deflating. He didn't have a friend to rely on. _I never had a real friend, did I? I had followers. Never friends. Blaise Zabini was my only equal, but that's not to say I want to lean on him in a time of need. _Draco threw himself down on the bed. It groaned under the sudden weight shift and gave off a cloud of dust. He couldn't even go back to his parents. Narcissa would listen, he knew that. He had known it the entire time he had been hiding from her. He kept on hiding, though; he hid from Lucius, who would always be there alongside Narcissa. Lucius, who was constantly there to scorn him, to yell at him, to harass him over nothing. Over nothing and everything. _Why did I spend so long pining for his approval? _He sighed deeply and shuddered as a sudden chill shot up his spine. _How long have I known these things? Has everyone else changed, or have I just been too thick to notice it all?_

After another half hour of seemingly drowning in his emotions, Draco rolled over onto his back. He sat up slowly and combed the room for his quill. Before he could get up to retrieve it, though, he lost his nerve.

…

"So Malfoy stood you up."

"Ron, drop it."

"_Malfoy_ stood you up!"

"Ron, I asked you last night to drop it. Nothing has changed."

"Sorry, sorry. Just…Malfoy!" Ron tried unsuccessfully to hide his glee. "That's what you get for trusting such a git."

"Well now I know that, don't I?"

Harry had returned past ten o'clock and gone straight to bed, having hardly said a word. He had told Ron what happened briefly, and Ron's reaction was the same as that of today. _Why did I think he was changing? Why did I think he was worth the second chance?_

…

Harry bolted awake that night, panting harder than ever before. He gave up trying to fall back asleep; after a few minutes of lying with his eyes closed, he realized that the images wouldn't go away any time soon. Harry opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. He wondered if the others had the same nightmares. He turned his head to look at Ron's bed. He could see his sleeping form twitch occasionally. Harry hadn't told anyone about the nightmares. He couldn't even lie to himself and say he didn't know why he'd kept his silence so long. He knew exactly why. He was not the only who had lived through the war. He was not the only one to lose loved ones. If anything, he had lost the least; he had had no family left to lose. The others did. He didn't feel like he had the right to complain, to get sympathy. After all, he hadn't lost a brother, a husband, a wife, a son! He was too young to remember losing his family, and on some level, he feared that everyone would resent him for his lack of memories. His memories were those he shared with the people to whom, he was sure, they meant much more than he could ever understand. Somewhere deep down, he knew he was just being thick. He knew no one would think he was trying to get attention, no one would resent him. However, he still could not seem to talk about it. Any of it. Yet he had agreed to meet Malfoy. He knew it was inevitable that the war would be the topic of conversation, but still he went.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco nodded to Tom and sat down at his usual booth. His mother had approached him, but he had rebuffed her attempt at reconciliation. And now here he was, on Christmas Eve, drinking alone. It was still early afternoon and people kept trickling in and out of the Leaky Cauldron. It seemed that there were lots of last-minute holiday shoppers.

The bell above the door tinkled yet again as a new group walked in. Draco looked up from his drink instinctively and registered the newcomers. He hastily sank into the shadows of his booth when he saw who it was. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny strode right past him and headed for the entrance to Diagon Alley without even a glance in his direction. Draco hesitated, wanting to go after them, but then changed his mind.

An hour and a half later, Draco still sat in the booth as though rooted to the spot. He knew that they would be forced to return the way they came. He didn't know what he planned to do, but he waited anxiously nonetheless. Forty minutes later, Harry led the way back into the dining room. Draco rose from his seat instantly and walked towards him.

"Potter."

Harry jumped a little and then, once he realized who had said his name, assumed an expression of cold indifference.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

The others stood still a few feet back, watching apprehensively.

"I… I don't…" Draco had expected this attitude. He knew he deserved it, but that didn't stop him from being slightly taken aback. "Can we talk over there?" He indicated the booth he had just come from.

"Malfoy, I don-"

"Fine. I understand." Draco turned abruptly and strode off.

"Malfoy! Wait." Harry caught up to him a moment later.

"Harry, can I have a word?" Ron called. Harry waved him off.

"You guys go home, I'll catch up later."

"If anything happens…" Hermione's sentence trailed off.

"Really, go ahead!" Harry said this a bit more forcefully. They walked off with clear reluctance.

"You wanted to talk. I'm listening." Harry sat down and crossed his arms.

"I've had some time to think. Actually, over five months. I broke ties with my parents. I don't know if I'll ever reestablish contact, but for now…" Draco stopped talking, not sure where he was going.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I have no one else to turn to." The response was automatic. There was no thought involved. It was as though his subconscious had prepared it long ago.

Harry's expression softened and his posture relaxed, but Mad-Eye Moody's advice floated through his mind: "Constant vigilance."

"I'm listening." This time Harry's voice was kinder and had the sincerity that it lacked before. Draco's shoulders fell and his jaw unclenched. He hadn't realized how tense his body had become.

"I have no one else to turn to." His voice shook as he said it again. With that, the last bit of his composure crumbled. He doubled over as his body shuddered with sobs. Harry sat dumbstruck, entirely unsure of what to do, and perhaps more confused that he had ever been.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry, guys! I forgot to update last weekend! So here it is! As always, I love my editors and thank them so, so much. Also, I love reviews! They make me listen to my happy song and dance around my room!**

"Merlin's beard, Malfoy." Harry edged closer to him and patted him on the back awkwardly. After a few minutes Draco gasped for air, gulped, and sat up slowly.

"I'm sorry," Draco choked.

"It's fine, don't worry about it," said Harry in a slightly exasperated voice.

"I wanted t-t-to talk to you. About…" Draco broke off and breathed deeply, trying to stop the renewed flow of tears.

"About the war, right?" Harry saved him the trouble of finishing.

"Yes."

"Well, you start, I suppose. I don't know what's on you mind." Harry's words were short and direct. The situation still felt unreal to him and he didn't quite know how to act.

"I… I had to t-t-torture people. He made me." Draco stared determinedly down at his lap, too ashamed to look Harry in the eye. "I'll… I'll never forget their faces. Their screams were the worst, though. I'd rather have b-b-been in their place. But it was either do it or d-d-die. I had to stay alive for my mother. I c-c-couldn't leave her in that living Hell."

"But now you've left her." Harry stated this matter-of-factly. There was no judgment in his voice. In fact, his voice was void of emotion altogether.

"I had to. It was either leave both of them or stay. There's no choosing. My father… he's been…"

Harry remembered the last time he had seen Lucius Malfoy. The man had clearly seen better days.

"When he's drinking…" Draco shuddered slightly, but Harry noticed. He remained silent, not sure of what to say.

"The guilt… I've b-b-been… Considering… Suicide." Draco looked up now for the first time. He had tears in his eyes again, but he no longer felt the powerful sobs coming. He continued to gaze at Harry as the tears fell, one by one, and streamed solemnly down his face.

"No. Mal – Draco, no." Harry's voice came out stronger than he meant it to, so he added: "You lived. Why struggle for so long only to give up?" He held the other man's gaze.

"Potter, you don't know what I did to those people." He squeezed his eyes shut as though trying to press the images into oblivion. "If you did, you wouldn't be saying that. If you did, you wouldn't so much as give me the time of day."

"Don't think I'm not disgusted. I am. But I still don't think it's worth ending your life over. Think of your mother…" Harry leaned towards him slightly. "At least do her the favor…"

"She'd be better off without me. My father will clean up his act eventually… he forgets the horrors of the past so easily," said Draco, this voice dripping with bitterness.

"You stayed alive so long just to die now?" Harry tried to keep his voice neutral, but it was flecked with emotion now. He leaned back and stared at the back of Draco's head.

"Then how do I deal with the pain?" asked Draco. He turned to look at Harry, his eyes pleading for help, for acceptance, though he didn't feel he deserved either.

"Let me tell you how." Harry crossed his legs and readjusted himself on the hard seat. "You live. You just have to live."

Draco gaped at him and moved his lips like a fish out of water, struggling for breath.

"You don't think you're the only one feeling guilty, do you? Surely even _you've_ looked past yourself long enough to see that we all suffer in the same ways."

"What do you have to feel guilty about? You ended it all. Everyone adores you." Draco's voice was thick with the jealousy and scorn that he didn't even care enough to hide.

"Don't be thick, Draco. All those people that died at Hogwarts? On our side, I mean. They died because they thought I'd step up and save the world…" Harry scowled in spite of himself. He didn't want to say the words he'd been thinking for months. "They died for me." He fixed Draco with the eyes of a man who'd seen more than his years betrayed. Draco knew that look all to well. He saw his own eyes reflected in Harry's. He saw his emotions, his fears, even some of his guilt, etched into the color of Harry's irises. "Don't think for a second that you're the only one," Harry said fiercely.

These were not words of comfort, but Draco took solace in them. For all his thinking, it had never dawned on him that others suffered, too. _Am I so selfish? So preoccupied with my own issues that I can't see the world around me?_

Draco held out his hand. Harry grasped it. They held their handshake a moment longer than either man normally would have. It meant more. It was a thank you, an apology, a new beginning, even a glimmer of hope. And then it was over and life released the breath it had been holding.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I know this section is very short, but I can't chunk it with the next section. So this is it until next week. As always, thank you so very much to my editors and and I want to send all of them fruit baskets. Please review!**

Celestina Warbeck's voice emanated from the radio, filling the Burrow's kitchen with a rerun of her annual Christmas concert. Everyone sat around the table, elbow to elbow, finishing off their eggs and kippers. There was a lull in conversation punctuated only by Teddy Lupin knocking a spoon to the ground and shrieking with laughter. Harry reached over and stroked the baby's now deep purple hair. Everyone had put up a valiant show of happiness, but they were all too aware of those not with them. The shadow of death hung over the family; everyone found ways of struggling against it, though. Mrs. Weasley had been fussing over the food, the decorations, the radio… Just about anything, it seemed, to keep herself occupied. Mr. Weasley and George had taken the opposite approach. They had taken seats in the corner of the living room and neither man had stirred much more than to occasionally pick up his drink. When Harry had arrived later in the evening, he had received a sunny but absolutely feigned greeting from Mrs. Weasley. He, too, had retreated to an armchair and spent much of the night there. _This is worse than I imagined it could ever be,_ thought Harry. _I hope it gets better. _Teddy squealed joyfully, squeezing Harry's finger and attempting to chew on it. A moment later, Mrs. Weasley excused herself and hurriedly left the kitchen. George let out a long, deep sigh and closed his eyes. He suddenly got up, knocking over his chair, and followed his mother. The door swung shut and Harry was sure he heard a muffled sob tangled with George's retreating footsteps. Harry determinedly kept his attention on Teddy as Ginny and Ron exchanged a dark look. Smiling wistfully at the happy, oblivious baby, Harry hoped that, at the very least, things wouldn't get worse.

...

Although a ray of sunlight beat steadily down on Draco, he refused to get up. Instead he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. The Leaky Cauldron certainly was not up to the Malfoy standard, but Draco had grown comfortable there. It had gone from a temporary hide-out to a sort of refuge. He rarely left the inn, occasionally braving Diagon Alley; however, the looks he got there would quickly send him back to his booth in the dining room. No one noticed him there. He could fall into the shadows and disappear. But for now, Draco doubted his ability to leave the room. He had never spent a Christmas away from his parents. He felt rather empty and wondered dully what his mother was doing. He had never much enjoyed the holidays; dealing with family, dealing with the Ministry officials his father brought home…

"_Draco, you look so grown up!" _

"_What's your favorite class, Draco?" _

"_How're your grades doing?"_

He snorted derisively into his pillow. But now, being entirely alone, he began to realize the value of the tired traditions.

...

_Potter,_

_Happy Christmas, I suppose. More importantly, thank you for listening last night._

_-Draco_

_December 25, 1998_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I am infinitely sorry for not updating for so long. I have no excuse but my forgetfulness. Thank you so much to my readers and editors and I will try to be better about updating!**

The scream was ear-splitting. It conveyed pain beyond the understanding of the man watching. It came from a woman. She lay some feet away from Draco, writhing and screaming, her hair flying and covering her face. Draco could not move. He wanted desperately to help her, to go to her, to find out why she was screaming, to know who was causing her pain. He pitied her but wanted to rescue her more than anything. He tried to move, but he was frozen. He could not so much as lift his foot.

In an instant, a flash of realization hit him: he was holding a wand, pointing it at her. He fought against his invisible bonds, fought to lower the wand, to end the curse he knew he was shooting her with. He yelled for help, for someone to take her out of harm's way, or to take the wand from him, anything… But there was no one around. Now that he thought about it, he realized that nothing was around. He stood on a white floor in a white room that seemed not to have walls, windows or doors. He felt like he was confined in a loony-bin; the room appeared completely sterile and spotless. Draco screamed and struggled fruitlessly, did anything he could think of to end the torture he was inflicting upon the woman. He uttered shield charms, counter curses, _finite incantatem_… None of it worked. Tears streaming down his face, voice hoarse, Draco knew he would not be able to save her. Suddenly, the screaming stopped. The woman lay still. Her head rolled to one side, hair continuing to obscure her face. Arms splayed out, legs bent, she felt no more pain. And Draco ran to her. The moment she had fallen silent, his bonds were broken. He ran to her and knelt at her side. She had no pulse. Draco needed to know who she was. He had a burning need to know whom he had killed. He was shaking with terror and couldn't explain why his hands were moving of their own accord as he turned her head and moved her hair. Narcissa's lifeless eyes stared blankly past Draco's arm. Face covered in miniscule scratches and a black bruise beneath her right eye, she was finally at peace. Her once striking face was tired and prematurely lined and her hair had developed a gray streak. Draco let out an anguished cry, a sound beyond any he could possibly have know he was capable of emitting. He fell, sobbing, over his mother's body. And then he was jolted awake.

Draco was breathing hard, coming back to himself slowly. He realized he was crying. Suddenly he was met with intense shame and frustration. He had fallen prey to his nightmare yet again. Almost every night he saw the same images, found himself in the same frighteningly white room. His victim, however, was different every time. Sometimes he had reoccurring victims: Pansy, his father, Blaise, Potter. Others only appeared once: Dumbledore, Granger, Snape. For the first time, on this very night, Draco had dreamt of torturing and killing his mother. The one person he loved most, the one person who would continue to love him… Draco was disgusted. He loathed himself for the contents of his subconscious mind. Nightmare though it may have been, he couldn't stop his body from shaking; his terror would not cease even though the minutes slipped by.

…

Not half an hour later, Draco stood outside the Manor. It was early morning, just before dawn. He had come here, but he didn't know what he meant to do. Apologize and reconcile? Tell his parents that he'd never come back? Tell his father how he felt about him? Draco raised a fist slowly and knocked, arm shaking. He hardly made a sound, so he knocked again, more surely this time. After a few minutes he heard motion just behind the door.

"Who is it?" Lucius' voice was sharp and accusing.

"Your son."

"If you're my son, what form does your patronus take?"  
>"A ferret," said Draco disdainfully.<p>

Lucius opened the door and stood staring at his son. After a moment he stood back and let Draco enter.

"Why have you come back?" Lucius' voice was crisp and business-like. There was no affection, no relief, and most certainly no joy.

"To see my mother." Draco returned the favor, his voice just as cold.

"Do you know what you did to her? She was in a right state for weeks. And you have the nerve to come back here."

"This _is_ my house."

"Not if I have anything to do with it, _Draco_." Lucius led the way into the sitting room and turned back to face his son.

"What ever does that mean, father?" Countered Draco, feigning innocence, as he stooped in the doorway.

"You haven't been the same since the war. I don't know what happened to my son."

"I'm still your son. I've just grown a conscience. And some humility," Draco spat.

"My son wouldn't sit locked in his room, moaning and crying, because of God-knows-what."

"God-knows-what? Maybe because I was forced to torture innocent people? Or because the Dark Lord was using me as a private plaything? Or because he was dangling my family's lives in front of me as bait? No big deal, nothing to get worked up about, right?" Draco's voice shook as he said it all. All that had been hanging over him, all that had sat on his shoulder. "Maybe because my father didn't care at all? Only cared for his own skin?"

"How dare you, you – "

"Or did you forget already? Did you forget the mark on your arm? Did you forget the blood on our floors, the bodies in our courtyard? Draco's voice was shaking with anger and rising steadily. "Or were you too drunk to register any of that?" He was practically yelling now. "I would've left long ago, but how could I leave my mother in your care?" Draco had tears in his eyes now.

"If you leave now," began Lucius in a deadly voice, "I won't tell her you were here. She won't have to suffer again."

"But I want to see her! I want her to hear what I'm saying!" Draco's voice grew louder and higher as he spoke.

"Get out."

"No!" Draco yelled defiantly, though all he wanted to do was run away. He turned and ran, but not to the door. He headed for the stairs, for his parents' bedroom. "Mother! Mother, I'm home!" He sounded entirely hysterical now.

Narcissa emerged from her room and stared in disbelief at her son.

"Draco?"

"Yes mother, it's me. I've been having a chat with father." Draco glanced over his shoulder as Lucius stormed up the stairs.

"_Impedimenta_!" Shrieked Lucius as Draco yelped in shock and was blasted back a few feet; he landed against the wall, immobile.

"Lucius! What are you doing?" croaked Narcissa in fear.

"Go back to bed!" commanded Lucius. "This is between our son and me."

"No!" She called in anguish. "Draco!" She made to walk towards him, but stopped in her tracks.

"Goodbye, mother." Draco had regained mobility. His voice was calm. He shoved past his father as he stomped off down the stairs.

"_Deletrius_!" Cried Lucius savagely.

Draco was suddenly soaring through the air, and before he could throw out his arms to stop himself, collided with the front door.

"Draco! Lucius, how could you?" There were tears in the desperate woman's voice.

Draco got up, using the wall to support himself, and opened the door. Blood was beginning to stream down his lip and his forehead was throbbing. He glanced back at his mother, but couldn't see her. She was hidden by the banister. The blood now flowed steadily from his bottom lip. Draco slammed the door and walked towards the front gate unsteadily. The sun was just beginning to rise and it cast a brilliant light over the Manor. He was in a daze, entirely unsure of whether what just happened was real. Draco reached the gate and looked back. He wondered if his mother would be alright. He disapparated, yet again not knowing where he was going.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Remember the note about unfinished words or phrases in letters? Remember how wouldn't let me cross them out? Well, keep it in mind. Unfinished words or phrases should be crossed out, as though the character had written them but changed his mind. Thank you to my editors as usual. I love reviews, so don't be shy!**

The dull, throbbing pain in Draco's head had grown progressively worse during the day. It had now reached its maximum potential, becoming sharp and unbearable. It forced him awake. Once his eyes were open, the room began spinning. He made to get out of bed, but instead fell to the ground. It took him a moment to register his surroundings. His dizziness confused him, as did his headache. Suddenly, the recollections of the previous night and of that morning soared back to him. The fight with his father, leaving the manor, disapparating, arriving at a muggle pub… The rest of the morning was a blur. He rolled over onto his stomach and pressed his face to the dusty floor. It was cool and pleasant to the touch. Draco figured that he was in the inn above the pub. Not wanting to think of how he may have acted while drunk, or of the fight with his father, he closed his eyes and struggled to repress all thought until he drifted back to sleep.

...

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat in the Burrow's living room, enjoying the last few days of Hermione and Ginny's Christmas break.

"Harry, you know you haven't told us what you and Malfoy talked about," stated Ginny.

"I know." He glanced at her and smiled, hoping she would laugh, shake her head, and forget the topic.

"Were you planning on telling us?" Ginny persisted, fixing him with a questioning look.

"Ginny…"

"Harry doesn't have to tell us. We're not entitled to every detail of his life." Hermione stepped in for Harry, but looked slightly concerned nonetheless.

Silence ensued, only to be broken by the occasional stirring of one of the four as they readjusted their sitting position. The gloom of Christmas still hung over everyone. Unsaid worries and unexpressed feelings seemed to resound throughout the house, but no one acknowledged them. Teddy was now back at his grandmother's house; with his departure went an excellent distraction. With no baby to lighten the atmosphere, the sadness seemed even more absolute.

Hermione excused herself to go work on homework. Ron followed her, feeling uncomfortable left alone with Harry and Ginny. Ginny leaned her head on Harry's shoulder and he put his arm around her.

"Why don't you want to tell us what happened with Malfoy?"

"He's going through a difficult time. I don't think it's my place to share the details," Harry said tensely, choosing his words with care.

"Why do you suddenly care what happens to him?" inquired Ginny, turning her face to look up at Harry.

"The war has changed him more than I can understand. He's not a schoolyard bully anymore, Ginny. He's just a person." Harry sighed and glanced at her.

"Why are you the one he went to?"

"You may not understand it, but he really doesn't have anyone else."

"How about his beloved father? What happened to him?" asked Ginny scornfully.

"Again, you may not understand it, but there's more to him than he ever led any of us to believe."

"Just… Be careful, alright? You can't forget his past so quickly." Harry smiled at Ginny's concern and kissed her forehead.

"Don't worry about me." _It's Malfoy you should worry about_, added Harry mentally.

...

Towards the evening, Draco finally returned to the Leaky Cauldron. He stumbled up to his room and began searching for a quill. Upon finding one, he wrote:

_Potter,_

_I saw my parents. My father jinxed me. I confronted him and he attacked me in front of my mother. I'm __nev__ worried about her. __I'm not I've bee__ I'm not doing well. I don't expect you to know how to respond to this. You don't have to respond at all. I just needed to tell someone._

_-Draco_

_December 26, 1998_

He sent the letter and collapsed on his bed. He had spent the day sleeping off the many drinks he had consumed early in the morning, so he did not feel remotely tired. As the evening wore on, the hollow feeling in Draco's gut intensified. He was hungry, but he attributed his discomfort much more to his nerves and general state of mind. He recalled his conversation with Harry. _Think of your mother_, he had said. _At least do her the favor. _Draco wasn't sure if it was worth it anymore. After all, he had said goodbye to her.

"Is that the last memory you want your mother to have of you? Hysterical, bitter, and angry, being thrust across the house by your father; not exactly a comfort to think about." The voice had never sounded quite so biting, but Draco knew it spoke truth. _Maybe, just this once, it should be about me_, thought Draco savagely. It was his pain that was driving him to the edge, not his mother's. He had to deal with it every day, not her. She would get along without him somehow. He felt cruel thinking that way, but he had never longed quite so much for an end to his thoughts and miseries. _But then_, thought Draco, _what's the difference between thoughts and miseries, really?_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Second to last chapter, guys! Woot woot! Thank you to my editors and readers!**

Draco felt as though eons had crawled by, but in reality the night was young. He lay immobile, wondering how Potter would react to his letter. A spot on the ceiling occupied him as he thought; if he stared at it long enough, it would shift and morph. He would then blink and it would return to its original form.

A sharp knock on the door startled Draco out of himself.

"Who is it?" He called.

"Mr. Malfoy, you have a visitor. Mr. Harry Potter has come to see you," responded Tom.

Draco took his time getting out of bed and opening the door. When he did, Harry stood alone and Tom's steps could be heard retreating down the stairs.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I suppose," said Draco dully as he stood back to let him in. "Why are you here?"

"Your last letter… I had to make sure you weren't going to do something stupid," said Harry, leaning against the desk and looking at Draco. Draco snorted and closed the door. He then returned to his bed and sat down.

"Well, _something stupid_ is just what I was planning to do."

"Draco, I don't want _your_ death on my head, too. You're not going anywhere." Harry pulled out the desk chair and sat down. Draco only fixed him with a solemn stare and sighed.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours until Draco broke it.

"It's too much, Potter," he said simply.

"What is?" asked Harry, seizing the opportunity to talk sense into the other man. Draco responded by shaking his head and lapsing back into silence.

The wall clock ticked oppressively and plaintively as though suggesting that, though time would go on, nothing would change. At half-past eleven, Harry sent a talking patronus to the Burrow telling them that he wouldn't be back that night. By two in the morning Harry's chin had fallen against his chest as sleep overtook him. Though by now Draco's eyes itched with tiredness, he refused to succumb. _No more nightmares_, he thought determinedly.

...

Draco Malfoy stood on the roof of the Leaky Cauldron with the bitter night air tearing at his face. He strolled to the edge of the roof and glanced down. A surge of eagerness, almost euphoric in its strength, passed through his being. A small ledge was all that was there to stop him. He stood on this, feeling more powerful and in control of his life than he had felt in a long time. A gust of wind buffeted him from the back and he teetered dangerously. Having caught himself, Draco smiled. _Not yet_, he thought.

"Dear Potter," said Draco quietly, "I didn't take your advice. I'm not doing anyone any more favors." His heart fluttered as a sense of elation began to creep over him. "But that's not true," he said in a slightly louder voice. "I'm doing myself this one, last, favor." The feeling steadily grew stronger. "No more guilt." His voice rose further. "No more loneliness!" Louder still. "No more anguish!" He was yelling. "I will not be controlled again!" Draco's cry echoed off the buildings in the otherwise silent street. His sense of elation peaked and he felt simply high. He was free, or he would be in a moment. As though preparing for a dive off of a high board, Draco braced himself for the fall. And then he was plummeting through the air, having left his miseries behind on the ledge.

**A/N: Nothing is ever as it seems...**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This is it, guys! Last chapter! Thank you to all who have stuck with the story from the beginning, and thank you more than ever to my editors! I love you guys so much! Please review and tell me how I did!**

One August morning Draco sat staring out the window of his London home. He was wondering. He had taken to wondering, lately, about a great many things. The sun streamed down upon him as he looked pensively into his cup of tea. He wondered whether he deserved all he had. The answer did not immediately come to him. Though he had often pondered on this topic, he still could not satisfactorily answer his own question.

He had worked tirelessly for years, earning a living and livelihood. He had had nothing, once. Oh, how well he remembered it. He had had no friends, no home…Nothing. He had come close to not even having a life to continue living… He shook his head and chose not to dwell on that particular aspect of nothing. Those memories would not soon leave him, but he could keep them at bay.

He next wondered whether his parents would try to reconcile with him again. His mind shrugged in wonderful indifference as to the answer. Draco still missed his mother, but he found that he didn't need her. In retrospect, he had admitted a while ago that breaking with his parents was one of the smartest things he'd ever done. Draco sighed deeply and fingered the picture of his mother that he kept in his pocket, always. _This is for the best._

Steadying his gaze on the shrubs outside the window, he wondered where he would be if it were not for that dream. On a December night years ago, he had dreamt of the thing he had most wanted to do. He closed his eyes and felt the wind, felt the rush adrenaline that had surged though his veins as he stood on that ledge… He could recall it all perfectly. It was as though he had not dreamt it but lived it, somehow emerging alive. Would he still be alive, had it not been for that dream? Draco quickly answered this question: he would not be. He would have thrown himself off the roof of the Leaky Cauldron and never looked back. Had his dream-self not beaten him to this task, he would be dead. He wondered how one dream could save his life.

No, it was not only the dream. Draco grudgingly admitted that Harry Potter was one of the reasons he was alive today. He rebuked himself for the bitterness of his sentiments towards Harry, but smiled to himself as he did so. His school days would live on in his memory, along with the days during which Harry had talked him through his worst of times. Draco rose and stretched slowly, relishing in the feeling of his body. He was alive. He may have only stayed alive against his will, but he realized now how much he valued his vitality. Time had moved with an agonizingly unreal degree of slowness then. Each morning he had awoken wishing he hadn't. But with each passing day, the wish had burned less brightly. It had faded from the forefront of his mind and had not reared its head in years. As Draco strolled to his desk, he tried to recall the desire to die. He tried in vain to remember how it had felt. To his relief, it did not come. It would not return again.

_Potter,_

_You're probably tired of hearing this, but thank you. I feel alive again. I feel real. I can't remember how it felt then._

_-Draco_

_August 19, 2003_

Draco knew the memories would never fade. The screams, the anguish, the helplessness; it was all ingrained in his brain as though branded. But he knew now that he could handle it all. The pain only recurred on occasion. The screams only echoed every so often. The anguish would sting and prickle, but never quite reach the surface. Time went on and life breathed at last. Draco Malfoy breathed with it.


End file.
